Jerak sensed the uncertantity of his friend, he had not been this excited since they found this place

"THE DRUID’S TALE" a Dark Sun short story by Fabian Benavente

The Arrival

Jarek saw the excitement in his friend, she had not been this nervous since she had smelled out the pool of water more than a year ago. The half-elf put his hand to his eyes to shade off the relentless sun and squinted. What he saw were a few specks far away that did not look familiar, the usual dust raised by the herds was missing. The jerbo jumped up and down and jittered nonstop until he playfully pushed her away. The druid pulled his hand back quickly and frowned at the jerbo. It was amazing how sharp her teeth were and how quickly she drew blood. Jilly went away then, as if knowing that a reprisal was not long in coming.

She also let him know about the visitors as if she anticipated trouble. It was not long before he smelled them; a smell he had thought had been left behind. It never ceased to amaze him how the air currents would change suddenly, seemingly at random; he knew better. The long relationship with her had taught him how subtle she was and how strong she could be. It was almost a year since she had found him. He was drawn to the place as flies are to kank honey, she had called him and he soon found out why. She had told him that he was now the new guardian and she showed him the place. He found the last druid’s body desiccated in the harsh sun, his bones had been picked clean by who knows what animal. Jarek never knew why but the bones were not buried; he left them there as a silent reminder of someone who had given up his life to defend the land.

His lands were what desert dwellers call a scrub plain. But it was not in any of the maps of the area, Jarek pictured it to be somewhere south of Balic but he wasn’t really sure. He did not care, life was good here, as good as it gets in Athas. Water was plentiful thanks to the spring that fed the small pool of water at all times. The spring is where he felt her presence more strongly so he assumed that she was feeding it with her spirit. There weren’t any big predators to disturb the peace of the land and the only people that knew of the place where the herders. There were two tribes that came to fill their waterskins and let their animals feed in the place. The tribes’ leaders were wise and never overstretched their stay, they were even careful to avoid the patch of deadly blossom killer that flourished nearby. Jarek sometimes turned into a large predator and scared the animals away when he thought that the herd had fed enough but it was seldom at best. Somehow the herders knew what was going on as evidenced by their food offerings left at the edge of the pool.

One of the tribes always left a few gallons of kank honey as it was easiest for them. The elven tribe usually left erdlu eggs and on rare occasions had a feast during the night in which one of the large birds was killed and roasted on a spit. Jarek feasted in the morning when he would find a large serving of the roasted meat accompanied with purple bulis berries. Other than those times, he rarely ate at all. It was strange but he usually woke up already nourished. The druid attributed this to another facet of the strange relationship he had with her. Jarek smiled… as good as it gets.

The stink brought him back to the present, the stench overwhelmed him. It was the scent of defeat, the scent of despair but stronger; it was the scent of hopelessness. The stink of slavery had invaded his nose for many years in the past but he finally breathed free. From that day on he vowed to himself that he would help slaves to breath free as he had been helped.

The druid saw them from a distance and it was clear that they were coming his way. It was a small caravan compared to the ones he had come across in other times. Jarek remembered how he had personally been part of a much bigger one the day he was caught. Although that was long ago in what seemed another life, it still brought a myriad of feelings to surface. Mostly feelings of hurt and disgust but finally triumph seeped in as he remembered his timely escape.

There were the usual guards. About seven of them, all looked human from this distance. They all wore the uniform of a noble house, the red and black colors could be seen even at this distance. The guards were dressed with hide armor and wore head gear to protect them from the crimson sun. Their tired steps spoke of a forced march explaining why they were out walking in midday sun. They were armed with spiked wooden clubs and bone tipped spears. It was with these that they prodded their merchandize forward.

This was not a slaver caravan but more likely it was a party sent out to track down escaped slaves. Doubtless this was why the party was this far out of a well-traveled road. A party much like this one was sent out to track down young Jarek; fortunately for him he had received help and had that day vowed to go out of his way to purge Athas of all slavers. Much to his demise, Jarek found out that the land experienced far worse troubles than slavers and his vow was dwarfed by his commitment when he took up the way of the Druid.

It was an unusual lot they brought back. There were the two humans up front who looked like simple herders and a strong mul carrying a child brought up the rear. In between them, Jarek saw a humanoid like he had never laid eyes upon. It was a bird for it was definitely plumage that covered his frame, it had clawed feet that it wobbled upon as it walked. And it had wings, well sort of, they were bloodied and bone could be seen protruding from the ends. Apparently, the slavers found no better way of insuring their merchandize from flying off, than by butchering the end of its wings. All of the prisoners were tied with leather thongs that had been wetted for that purpose. The thongs had dried up quickly in the desert and had tightened around their limbs. Their bowed heads told of a broken body and maybe even worse… a broken spirit. The mul’s head was not bowed nor was his body broken but it is well known how those brutes could outlast a mekillot if need be. The bird man was far worse, probably unaccustomed to walking much, let alone a forced march. He stubbornly put one foot in front of the other and a thick meaty tongue could be seen escaping the side of his beak.

The slave masters came into view. Jarek skin prickled as he saw a wizard amongst them riding on a howdah on top of a small inix lizard. The lizard was either very small for its kind or was net yet fully developed and its handler was having a hell of time trying to make it obey. The beast’s handler, a hulking half-giant, big even for its kind was merciless; he constantly prodded the beast with a huge bone tipped lance right underneath its front flanks. Fresh blood could be seen trickling down its flank as the lizard bellowed its pain meanwhile the halfgiant seemed to be having a grand old time with his "job". The lizard not only carried the howdah for the wizard but also the main supplies of the small caravan. A slight smile crept up into Jarek’s face as his eyes twinkled with mischief as he imagined how things would change and quickly at that.

The guard’s captain was a mul, bald like all his kind with sunburn skin that rippled with muscles under his massive frame. A shudder involuntarily shook Jarek’s countenance as he envisioned the bloody battle that the brute would give in order to save his life. The druid set his jaw and whispered a silent prayer to her while his hand unconsciously went to his hip closing over the pummel of his long knife.

The wizard jumped off the lizard and walked over to the half giant. Rising to no more than his waist, he looked up and yelled, "Stop playing with the young lizard, you are not a beast trainer, you are barely trained yourself, you dumb oaf." The half giant surprisingly cowered at the words and after taking a moment answered in deep voice "I can train, I can train, I have been good, haven’t I Martek?" The half giant looked towards the mul captain and rapidly brought both his hands to his lips and in hushed tone added "Shhs, shhs, don’t yell or captain will beat me and not let me drink water today." The wizard laughed at the situation and yelled "Not today he won’t, and you know why…? ‘cause I found water. I tell you there is water very near I can feel it. And you can have your belly full, Gordu". Gordu smiled as a fat tongue left his mouth to lick his parched lips. Litor, the captain, just grinned as he too sensed the water now. Too many years inside the city’s arena had dulled his senses but he could now see how the grass had been turning a different color and everything beckoned towards the rock outcrop.

Jarek decided to wait his time out and remained concealed near the spring to better observe them. His mind already made up about freeing the slaves, he did not necessarily want to kill everyone involved. He knew that many times a guard’s pay is used to feed a family and some of these men did not look like they were enjoying themselves. It was as Jarek entertained these thoughts when the slavers arrived.

When they finally reached the spring, it was a delight, the water somehow was cool and even the slaves were glad they were alive. The only one that did not drink was the child in the captured mul’s arm. "Is no use. He is weak. He has not drunk nor eaten since you found us. The only way you kept him alive in captivity was ‘cause he thought he could escape. I think he has given up now…" Martek answered the slave "He is the Lady’s precious slave and if he dies, I will personally cut off your hand." A low chuckle issued from the slave which only served to anger the wizard some more. "You are the house champion, are you? And you think you are invincible, don’t you? I guarantee you will not last another month as you will weaken and start loosing your fights but I will beg the Lady not to sale you. Oh no, I want you to serve me and then, when I grow tired of you, I will kill you with my own hands."

At this, the wizard pulled out a small glass jar that caught the mul’s attention. The wizard theatrically played upon his fears. "So the big bad gladiator is afraid of a little grub is he?" Jarek recognized the dreaded beetle inside the jar but there was another one, a shiny black grub that he had not seen before. The wizard continued in mocking tones "OK, everyone listen up now, this is a mind beetle which when inside someone’s body, injects a poison which knocks out the individual whenever it detects its host using the way." He walked over to the bird man who was thirstily drinking and gave him a vicious kick in between his wings. "This is one of the ways of keeping mindbenders under control for the bug must be carefully removed lest we kill it inside the host and release all of its poison at once and yes, you are right… that will kill the host."

The bird man slowly recovered himself off the water and amazingly spoke to him. The words were in heavily accented common more due to the fact that they were issued from a beak than anything else. "I may be an ambassador from my people but I am also a warrior. I will personally rip your throat out with my…" Martek intercedes "Yes, yes, you have told us before. You may be a great warrior and mindbender but you are way too naive for our society. You are a lucky bird, things could be worse. You cannot accept everything that is giving to you for drink, my friend." It was clear that the wizard was immensely enjoying himself as he toyed with his prisoners.

He mockfully bowed to the aaracokra "If his majesty will only allow me, I will continue. This shiny black grub is similar to the mind beetle. It slowly injects a poison into its host as well. The difference is that this grub gets into your gut and cannot be taken out, no matter how careful. Its poison slowly weakens the individual so a big strong gladiator will start loosing his fights and not know why." The mul realized the wizard’s plan and slowly raised his head. He proudly stated "I will kill you anyway, bug or no bug." It was then that Litor returned from the rummaging through the howdah. He walked over to the half giant and ordered "I swear that if you kill the lizard, you’ll carry all our supplies on your worthless back. Once you finish here, go and fill our water barrels, we leave at dusk. We were lucky enough to find this place but I don’t want to stay any longer."

As everyone’s attention was being occupied by the wizard, Jarek made his first move. He walked over to the inix and after speaking some soothing words to the beast, went around to its back. He called her and was instantly rewarded by a feeling of wholeness as his spirit fused with that of the land. A few gestures and whispered words shaped the spirit to his bidding. A rendering sound was heard as if wood was being ripped apart and water begun to drip from the inix’s back. Jarek got away one more time as everyone came running towards the beast.

They all looked dumfounded toward the howdah or what was left of it. The wooden frame was warped and twisted and could not be ridden anymore. A bunch of dry rations and other supplies lie scattered around the lizard’s feet. Most importantly to all who were watching, the sandy soil seemed to greedily drink up two big blotches of water. The mul captain and the wizard both gasped. Upon seeing this, the half giant moved to action "Don’t worry masters, we have lots of good water. I will go fill up the barrels. As the half giant neared the inix, it recoiled as if waiting for a strike. "Stay, stupid beast." Gordu pulled forth two irrevocably twisted and warped barrels that had as much chance at holding water as Gordu had of learning magic.

NIGHT AT THE OASIS

It was a dark night as the slavers went over their options left again and again. They finally realized that there was someone else in the oasis and that it was more than likely the druid of these lands. The plan proposed that Martek would study his spell book to try and figure out a way to fix those barrels so they would hold water. They were many days away from any well-traveled road and without water, they would simply die in the desert.

The would-be slaves had little hope, knowing that they would be left to die in this abandoned oasis. It was then that Jiro, the aaracokra, felt a presence trying to contact him. His first reaction was to set up his defense, as he did not recognize the psionic harbringer that was trying to reach him nor what its intentions were. He quickly changed his mind as he remembered how he would loose consciousness if he even tried any psionic activity. He was recomforted as he heard a voice inside his head. The voice identified himself as someone who would give him a chance to breath free again and told him to be patient. The voice also spoke to the mul prisoner and told him of the plan as well. Jarek went into action once again.

The druid needed a ruse so he asked her for some wind. Not just any wind but those whistling winds that sometimes plow through the land. And the wind came and it whistled. The high pitching sound drowned out every other noise and was just perfect for the druid. He then turned into a rodent and went into the slavers’ camp. He went up to the mul and the two humans and he walked over their leather bonds. By calling upon the way, the bonds suddenly aged and became brittle, brittle enough for a mul, at least, to break. But the mul waited. He looked towards the defiler, licked his lips, and he waited.

But Jarek’s work was not nearly done for that night and he transformed himself again that night. This time it was a large bird. Under the amazed gaze of the slaves his fur turned into plumage and he grew wings. He picked up the calm aaracokra and before anyone knew any better, he was off. He took advantage of the howling winds and merely let it take him and his cargo off to somewhere. Anyplace would do, the slavers were too scared to seek him out and felt confident in their numbers. It would be their downfall.

Up into the night air they went without speaking for some time. When they finally landed, Jarek transformed himself back to his half-elven form. The druid pulled out his long knife and Guthay’s red light shone off the metal face of the blade. After cutting through the leather thongs that tied the aaracokra’s claws together he voiced "Now that you are free, I need you to help me do away with the defiler and his friends." The bird man seemed elated "You need not ask, I am in your eternal debt and I am ready to start paying back." Jiro flexed his clipped wings and tried taking off from the ground. He crashed just a few feet away, got up, and wobbled over to the druid who had a smirk on his face. "I would not laugh if I were you since this is all you will get from me," the bird man admonished. "Nay, my friend, this is what I will get" the druid stated as he drew his long knife once again.

"You must turn around and trust me enough not too move for it could be your death." The aaracokran warrior did as he was told. He felt the sharp bite of the steel at the bottom of his head, and resigned himself as hot blood started to drip onto his already filthy silver white plumage. After a few moments the druid sighed "This part is over, care for a beetle?" The warrior grabbed the bug in his claw and crushed it mercilessly, he immediately tried to work the way. His mind responded properly; once again he was master mindbender of the Sharp Claw Academy. "Well, at least now I will be able to be of help. My body may not be in the best of conditions but my mind is ready for battle and most important of all, my soul is craving for revenge."

Jarek interceded "Your body is needed in its best conditions for these slaver are merciless and well equipped, let me help you once again…". The druid whispered a silent prayer to the land and his pupils dilated, he always felt ecstatic when she lent him her energy. The aaracokra felt his flesh slowly stretch and cover his exposed bones and new feathers had started to bud which then slowly grew to cover his wings. Jiro now opened his full 20 feet wingspan and easily hovered a few feet from the ground. His expression was of content as his mighty wing strokes raised dust from the plains and bent the spindly grass underneath. His slowly landed near the half elf and merely stated "I am ready, let’s go." The druid looked perplexed but quickly made up his mind "No, not yet. We will rest well tonight. Let them experience the whistling winds of the South for a full night. We will complete our task in the morning." It was then that Jarek heard a familiar jittering at his side, it wasn’t long before the small head of the jerro was nudging his hand for attention. It took a while for the excitement to dwindle away enough for sleep to creep in but the halfelf and the aaracokra slept at last.

DAWN

The first rays of crimson light found the slavers huddled over a small campfire. They hugged whatever clothes they had close to the bodies as the whistling wind relentlessly blew. True to its name, the wind changed tones and pitch throughout the night and kept them awake and restless. It had apparently dwindled down now as the night’s shadows were chased away by the morning light.

Morning found the halfling dead despite the fact the mul had huddled his companion during the night more out of friendship than any idle threats from the defiler. The small warrior had died for his race but his death would not be known by any halfling nor his name would be chanted over any campfire. The mul would not waste his sacrifice. He set his jaw and added one more reason to kill all of these slavers. He could barely wait to rip his weakened bonds apart and wreck havoc among his captors. He looked over his jailers, all seven of them and weighed his odds. All he wanted was a chance at the wizard but he realized that he would have to kill these men first. He squinted toward the yet feeble sunlight and smiled. "Soon," he thought, "my chance is coming soon."

In another campfire close by, the defiler took out a bunch of brightly colored strings tied together and started to slowly caress them with his hands. Litor joined the wizard with Gordu. The half giant was carrying the wood that was left over from the twisted barrels. "Here is what you asked for wizard. Cast your spell and be quick at it. Hopefully the birdman will die in the desert and not get back to Balic." The mul then sat down cross-legged and slowly sharpened his great obsidian headed battle-axe. The half giant sat down next to him, gave the mul a big toothy smile, and started to do the same with his lance. The sharpening stone screeched across the obsidian blade as it polished it to razor sharpness. Gordu’s stone made no noise across the bone but that did not discourage the brute… "Screech, shsss, screech, shsss" he spit along, sometimes at the wrong times as he fumbled the coordination of hand and noise. The mul looked over, apparently accustomed to this and merely shook his head in resignation. This was just too much for the wizard who moved over a bit to have some quiet for his studying.

The high pitched warcry of the aaracokran warriors pierced the morning. It was the signal that Catiar and the herders were waiting for. They quickly went into action. The first thing that told the guards that something was amiss was the sickening crunch of bone that was heard as Catiar’s two massive fists crushed the skull of the guard that was nearest to him. Before the body had fallen to the ground, he quickly grabbed the man’s weapons. The Lady’s arena champion was already armed meanwhile the herders were shedding their bonds. Before any other action took place, another guard gasped as he suddenly found a spear firmly embedded in his gut. All the man attempted to do was grab its shaft as he slowly sank to his knees. The herders desperately tried to double-team one of the guards as the gladiator faced the remaining four guards armed only with a club with a huge bone spike in its head.

The druid again called on the spirit of the land and she answered. Thick vines sprung from the ground right underneath the three slavemasters. The vines slowly entwined themselves up their torsos and held them firmly in place. Jarek cursed his luck as the wizard and the mul captain quickly stepped out of the deadly grasp and were merely slowed down by the snaking plants. Gordu, fascinated by the spectacle, was too slow to react in time. His body was covered by thick snake like vines that held even a large creature like himself in place. Within moments the vines started to grow thick thorns from them which unerringly pierced the half giant’s skin. The finger thick thorns were quickly covered in bright red blood as the half giant wailed his lament for only a moment. His body slumped and would have fallen down had the vines let it.

Litor sprang at full speed with the battle-axe firmly held in front of him; the hated aaracokra was right in front of him just a few yards away. At the last moment, the bird man took flight and screeched his hate once again. The mul was perplexed as he found himself facing a fully healed warrior and not the bound and hurt prisoner he left last night. He did not quite understand the warrior’s tactics and he quickly looked for missile weapons the aaracokra might be carrying. It was too late when he remembered that this warrior was also a master of the way. The mental assault was overwhelming, the mul never had a chance as his hastily brought up defense was literally swept away by a fierce wyvern. The mindscape battle was over just as quickly as it started with the end result being a triumphant wyvern lazily landing in a barren field. Jiro also gracefully landed but the hate in the warrior’s gaze betrayed his intent. Without much thought to anything else, he rapidly reached out with a clawed hand towards the mul’s throat. The claw came back red with gore as the aaracokra shrieked that frightful outcry again. The mul’s massive body lazily fell backwards exposing a terrible wound were his throat was only moments ago.

One of the herders was pounding the guard’s skull into pulp as the other grabbed the man’s spear and went towards Catiar. He was surprised at the aaracokra’s scream for he did not realize how close the bird man really was. The mul was grappling with two guards as a third one looked on from the floor. This man’s head position betrayed his status as no living neck could bend that way. The fourth guard’s spear rendered through muscle and bone as the tip appeared through the ribs of the herder. A silent gasp was all he mouthed as the guard firmly planted his foot and pulled out his gory spear with some of the spear’s barbs ripping back shreds of flesh.

The blood-curdling screech also brought the defiler back into action. The druid and the bird man were free and coming for him. Gordu looked like a giant blood tree as his many wounds bathed the green vines in red; Litor would never be able to draw breath again through that mutilated windpipe. His situation being desperate, he made up his mind quickly and bet his life on one last spell. He dipped his hand into his pouch and gathered arcane energy.

The land was lush but grudgingly gave up its life essence. Nevertheless, much to Jarek shock, the grass withered and the soil was tainted black. The druid was enthralled with the spectacle as the circle quickly increased as if a stone made ripples in his beloved pool. A streak of fire shot forth from the defiler and suddenly exploded amidst the fighters. It was all he could do to cover himself; the last thing he saw was the aaracokra quickly take to the skies once again. After the thunderous roar of the explosion, he quickly whispered another prayer and she answered him again. This time the spirit transformed itself into a great gush of wind that carried deadly sharp obsidian particles in it. The gust of wind went straight to the wizard’s face; luckily, the wind also drowned out the defiler’s scream.

A moment later, both remaining warriors were next to the wizard. The wizard was desperately clawing at his face that had bloody obsidian shards protruding from it. His blank stare betrayed the fact that he could no longer see. His body lay amongst a great circle of freely blowing black-grey ash, the smell from the ash was sickening. It only took a moment for the aaracokra to completely put the wizard under his control. At least the wizard had stopped screaming and wasn’t clawing at his face any longer. The whole sight brought a tear to the druid’s eye.

Near the great circle of ash was another great circle. This one smelled more familiar although no less sickening; the smell of burnt flesh was just as nauseating. A quick search revealed that no one else had survived the battle, a token to the wizard’s might. The carnage was appalling as the half-elf surveyed the battlefield and the lamenting of the defiler did nothing to ease the tension. The druid had thought that these terrible scenes had been part of his distant past.

The harsh sun was almost at its apex in what looked to be another brutal day in Athas. The druid´s gaze was stoic and he paid no attention to the unrecognizable mumbling issuing form his bundle. He had to agree with the aaracokra though, pulling out the wizard’s tongue was a good way to unsure he would never defile again. Apart from his terrible wailing, the wizard’s now healed eyes betrayed his terror. The druid’s mind was someplace else altogether. He was thinking on how he would nurture the land back to health. "This is a good way to start," he thought. "The defiler had not only killed plants but also had sucked up the land’s essence, her spirit. Killing him was the right thing to do but there had to be another way for him to pay." These were the druid’s last thoughts as he fed the bound and gagged wizard to the blossom killer.

Short Story by Fabian Benavente,